Mechanic Heat
by Aria DC al Fine
Summary: He wasn't supposed to be able to feel OR an au whereby Seishirou is a genetically-engineered weapon whose mission was to annihilate Sumeragi Subaru. SLASH seixsub


A SeishirouxSubaru Alternate Universe fanfiction  
Title: Mechanic Heat  
Authoress: aria dc al fine  
Synopsis: He wasn't supposed to be able to feel  
A/N: Blame Gunslinger Girl for this.

Prologue

Laboratory TS-059 in the basement of Social Welfare Corporation was filled with columns, cylindrical glass coffins imprisoning bodies, one still form in each encasement, suspended in lime jelly-like fluid which bathed the room in eerie green light. Rainbow cables were attached to their heads and limbs, penetrating skin in a manner that surely hurt yet the impaled parties carried on in blissful unconsciousness, 'babies' in artificial amniotic sacs. Countless heart-monitoring machines beeped in unison, a static not even 0.1 seconds out of sync.

In front of the central screen, where every specimen's vital information was displayed, stood a short, curvy figure clad in a white coat, light glinting off her spectacles, her straight, short hair tied to a low ponytail. She was eyeing the experiments impassively, with an indifference that bordered on boredom.

"Professor Yatouji," another effeminate figure approached, long dark hair cascading down her back. She was older, taller.

"Professor Mihara," the expert greeted her colleague, her head bowing slightly as a sign of respect.

"The harvesting day has arrived," the more experienced Engineer sounded hopeful, "How is the prospect?"

"Grim," Satsuki was anything but blatantly honest. Thankfully her profession was one where she needed not sugarcoat her words. Communication involved numbers, standard units, alphabet soups and Latin terms: cold, solid experimented facts.

Mihara sighed, her optimism dashed. "How many successes are there?"

"Two," Both turned to the glass columns as Satsuki answered, "Not many can survive the harsh conditionings. There are boundless variables, too little room for mistakes. One different code in a strand of modified DNA and multiplication of cells becomes excessive, inducing growth of tumors. Diverging arrangements of RNA causes mutation. Half the specimens don't even appear vaguely human."

Only after Satsuki mentioned the observation did Mihara notice that the bodies were of various states of deformation, grotesque collections displayed in neatly arranged jars. She had contributed to these…these atrocities, these biological anomalies way, way more monstrous than Frankenstein. She couldn't help but shudder.

"What a waste," Satsuki stated suddenly, chasing away the guilt that was blossoming in Mihara's heart. It was best to view those…failures as objects, not humans whose fate they tampered, lives trampled.

Mihara scrambled to hang on to the excuse. "Yes," she conceded, "And the successes…?"

"M-02211 and M-18808," Satsuki led her companion to two columns near the east corner, where two specimens slept. Males with long, lean, flawless limbs, heads that neither burgeoned to a size larger than soccer balls nor contorted to inhumane shapes, aquiline noses, luscious rose petal mouths and long lashes that fluttered against fine cheekbones. Both looked like beautiful eighteen years old teenagers on the brink of entering adulthood, flowers on full bloom…

(Right before they wilt)

Mihara gasped in awe, fingers reaching out to touch the glass that separated them.

"I'm proud of them, too," for all her unsociability, Satsuki seemed to be good at perceiving other's body languages. Must be Kigai Yuuto rubbing off on her, Mihara pondered, smiling inwardly.

The long-haired woman's PDA vibrated, disrupting the harmonious orchestra of orderly beeps, and Mihara turned to leave. "Don't forget to send them off to Kusanagi-sensei at 2 pm," she reminded her junior.

"I won't," Satsuki's lips curled to the left, "It's the big moment."

* * *

His head hurt.

Something was rubbing against him, irritating his skin. He could sense that the fluid that had been protecting him was gone – it was easier to breathe, but his body felt heavier, submitting to a force he couldn't comprehend. There were noises assailing his ears, aliens compared to the periodical static he was used to, or the soothing repetitive voice meant to brainwash him in his slumber. There were praises…of him? He wasn't sure. His vocabularies weren't extensive.

He didn't want to wake up. Emerging to consciousness was like climbing a steep slope. He didn't feel that it worth the effort. Yet, the comforting blanket of oblivion was dragged off him vehemently.

He opened his eyes irately, fingers twitching. Mobility felt strange, awareness of his limbs, appendages and nerves more so. Colours and light flooded his sight and he closed his eyes immediately. It took him seconds to realize the pressure against his lids were his hands.

Moments passed before he felt stuffy, the skin of his face clammy. He removed his hands slowly, then opted to reopen his eyes in a similar pace.

Three people were bent over him, peering at him with extreme curiosity. One of them was large and tanned, the other two shorter, more rounded, more petite, more…fragile. They were swathed in long, white cloaks.

There was another…bed – that was the word he was looking for – next to him, a person lying on it. That person was lean, but his body was filled with sharp angles and flat planes and he was confused…but he scanned himself and saw that he too, was lean but not…fragile…That person has straight black hair that fell to his large brown eyes…suddenly, he wanted to see himself, see how he looked like…

One of the two delicate people, the one with long hair, sat between his bed and his companion's bed. "Hi," that person smiled. His companion mimicked the expression so he tried, too, his facial muscles working out. "I'm Mihara Ichiro. She," she pointed at the shorter figure, "is Yatouji Satsuki. The man over there, he is Kusanagi Shiyu-sensei."

Curvy, fragile people were 'she', large, masculine ones 'he'. He noted his observations silently. Where did he fit in?

"Who am I?" the question escaped his lips before he realised it. He was surprised to discover that the rich, chocolaty sound was his voice. It was pleasant to his ears. He liked it.

"You," Mihara Ichiro – yes, he remembered that person's name; he was highly intelligent – addressed him and his companion when she spoke, "are Killdren (A/N: yes, this is partly inspired by the movie that will come up soon…Children of the Sky, I think?)."

* * *

"Yura-chan, I told you it's wholly unintentional," Kigai Yuuto, 25, current heartbreaker of Division II, information gathering department, insisted as he chased his partner through the corridors of the building, "It wasn't what it seemed."

The handsome blonde's companion, a petite oriental woman with shoulder-length wavy hair black as spilled ink, mildly attractive oval face and gorgeous body of a female gymnast, snorted, her single-lidded dark eyes expressing disbelief. "You aren't that good an actor, Yuuto-chan. Besides, you were unnecessarily _physically_ close to Kanoe-san," she paused dramatically, "Satsuki-chan isn't going to be happy to hear that…"

"It's a job!" Ordinarily, Yuuto was sleek and silky. Yuuto wouldn't fuss over anything. Then, Satsuki came to the picture, and he couldn't be composed. "Yura-chan," he was fraying at the edges.

Other members of Division II, especially the males, were enjoying the debacle. It was amusing, this banter between the best spies of the Statutory Board. They couldn't pass the opportunity to witness Kigai Yuuto unraveling.

She cut him some slack. "Chill! I was playing around!" She slapped him on the shoulder, and Yuuto winced. He was a papery distance away from yelping unmanly. "Mind your strength, Yura!"

The mischievous expression fell off her face. She was somber in the blink of an eye. "I'm sorry," she offered an apology, and Yuuto hated himself.

The silky male raised his hand and reached out to touch his partner's shoulder, his mouth opening, but the words he was about to speak disappeared when the object of his affection knocked the door to the office of Division II. "Yura-san, Professor Mihara wishes to see you in Kusanagi-sensei's infirmary."

The fair-skinned agent turned, eyes wide in surprise. She hadn't had to see the woman in…years.

Satsuki saw the questions in her eyes. "The Killdren…they have awakened."

Yura took a sharp breath, one that wasn't overlooked by her partner, before she plastered a grin on her face. "Better go see them, then, Satsuki-chan!" she skipped to the door and walked ahead of the other female.

The genius appeared slightly annoyed at her nickname. Before she followed Yura, Satsuki's eyes landed on Yuuto and softened, the hint of a smile teasing her lips. Yuuto replied the greeting warmly.

* * *

A ball of ceaseless energy bounced to the hospital wing and latched on to Kusanagi Shiyu-sensei, saying in a sing-song tune, "Hi, Kusanagi-chan!" The person was small and curvy, but not fragile. He supposed the person was a 'she'.

Mihara Ichiro chuckled, and the newcomer approached the long-haired woman. "Long time no see, Mihara-san," she bowed, her greeting more formal.

"Me too, Yura-chan," Mihara nodded, before she turned to him and his companion. "Yura-chan, they are the Killdren. M-02211," Mihara pointed at him, "and M-18808," she pointed at his companion. "M-02211 and M-18808, this is Harutono Yura. She will be your teacher."

He was about to bow as deeply as he could, from the bed, before Harutono Yura jumped out of the blue and turned to Mihara sharply. "Hold on!" she showed him her palms, "Y-you're calling them M-02211 and M-18808?" her voice raised a notch. She looked…angry.

"Yes," it was Yatouji Satsuki who answered Harutono Yura's inquiry from her position next to the door, lounging and leaning on the wall disinterestedly. "It's their experiment identification number."

"I-I can't accept that!" Harutono Yura looked more than angry, splotches of red spreading on her pale cheeks, her limbs tensing. She looked…outraged, poised to attack. "I want to name them!" her eyes sought Mihara Ichiro's, challenging the Head of Research and Development of Killdren.

The latter's gaze fell to the floor. "Do as you wish, Yura-chan."

"They're weapons," Yatouji Satsuki glowered and extricated herself from the wall, "They don't need names."

"They're humans," the oval-faced female argued adamantly, "They have flesh and blood."

"They cannot feel!" Yatouji Satsuki retorted, "They don't have souls! We created them. They are not-"

"I name my plushies!" Yura interjected quickly. "I'm not the only one. Boys name their cars and guitars, too!"

The straight-haired girl surrendered. "Whatever, Yura-san."

"Good, 'cus I'm giving them names, no matter what," Yura stuck her tongue at her co-worker. "Since I'm going to be the one spending most time with them for the next few months or so, I presume," she stared at Mihara for confirmation, which was given.

"Well, then," she bounced around the cramped, pristine infirmary, skirting about high-tech equipments carefully, lips stretched wide from ear to ear, splitting her face to two, as she peered at him and his companion. "This one," she poked his companion, who blinked, "is Fuuma-chan. And you," she moved so fast, she was under his face, mere inches away, a contemplative expression on her face before it was swept away by a brilliant grin. "You're Seishirou-chan."

A/N: Yura is an OC. She is like Hokuto, in a sense…Hokuto was born on Feb 18, Yura on May 18. Same date. There's this occult/astrology thingy that examine people's characteristics based on the date of birth, regardless of the month. E.g. 18=1+8=9. People of 9 tend to have extreme personalities, never do things halfway. People of 1 tend to be overly compassionate (pointing at Subaru, since 19=1+9=10=1 – there are only 9 distinctive categories).

A/N: I'm in a DILEMMA!! If it's to really follow Gunslinger Girl, Seishirou and Subaru should be a fratello (Italian for sibling). I have created 2 hopefully equally interesting plotlines…Choose?

Sneak peek:

Monou Fuuma sighed as he offered the canned drink to the other man in the waiting room. He swore if that man wasn't his half brother, he would have deserted him eras ago, with Tokyo-sized ego and boundless intricate antiques he had. "Do you plan on visiting every hospital in the city?" Fuuma remarked as he plopped onto one of the plastic seats which were arranged to two rows, back to back. "I have already chosen mine."

"I told you that boy isn't an appropriate choice," Sakurazuka Seishirou replied before taking a seat behind his sibling of different paternal sources, opening the aluminum container as he spoke, "he looks feisty even in his sleep."

Seishirou liked to pretend he was a good judge of characters. Fuuma tagged along. "If I'm as persnickety as you, the Corporation would have fired us both." If the younger man was to be honest, an unnamable trait of the messy-haired boy he picked drew him, an intangible, incomprehensible force.

As the two engaged in a friendly banter, the medical practitioner, a bespectacled middle-aged man who lacked self-conspicuousness, came for them. He had a smile plastered on his round, wrinkled face. "Workers from the Social Welfare Corporation, right? We've been waiting for you," he welcomed them.

The doctor led them to a ward, where a regular-sized bed was placed. There were various machineries cluttered around the mattress, which beeped as the chest of the figure laid on the furniture rose and sunk sporadically. The boy, too petite to be a teenager, looked frail, drowning in the sterile white sheets of the hospital that made the lack of colour on his face more pronounced. Despite his pallour, it was obvious that the child was a beauty, silky black strands falling on curved cheeks as cherry Cupid bow's lips parted, long lashes casting shadow on fine skin.

"The Government has finally formed a wonderful institution," Fuuma listened halfheartedly as the doctor droned on. It was only polite, since Seishirou's attention was solely on the boy. "Prioritising medical treatment for the needy," the doctor turned and noticed that Seishirou was eyeing the patient (like a predator would a prey. Fuuma wanted to whack his own head and step on Seishirou's foot to remind him that they were supposedly SOCIAL workers!! Sei was the older brother, damnit! He never acted like one!)

"He certainly needs your help…" one of the nurses handed Seishirou the boy's medical records. His name was written on the cover of the file in bold, blue ink: SUMERAGI KEITO.

"Poor child," the doctor caressed the boy on his forehead. Seishirou seemed like he would like to chop the middle-aged man's hand, so Fuuma distracted the medical personnel. "What happened to him?"

He released his breath when the doctor stopped touching Keito. "He's the lone survivor of a recent household murder case…His grandmother and parents were brutally killed. He and his twin sister had been raped throughout the night as the corpses were laid next to them…The twin sister disappeared…presumed dead… He has attempted suicides numerous times."

"Poor child, indeed," Fuuma offered his condolences, not daring to raise the doctor's hopes since there was a high probability Seishirou didn't want the boy as his partner, but the man mentioned turned to the doctor and smiled. "We'll try our best to heal him, sensei."

Fuuma didn't express his surprise until Seishirou finished signing the papers. "Why him?"

"Why Kamui?" Seishirou retorted in return.

Silence descended over them like a suffocating cloak as they proceeded to the vehicle that would transport the boy to the Corporation. Fuuma was the one who broke the tranquility. "What are you going to name him?"

The two entered the vehicle and sat next to the angelic boy's prone form. Burnt sienna eyes glazing over, Seishirou reached out and threaded his fingers through the fine midnight locks. "He looks like a shooting star," he spoke, cryptic, "I'm naming him Subaru."

TBC

A/N: Fuuma and Seishirou can't have Jan-Jose type of interaction…but really, what do you think? I don't dare to write from Seishirou's POV, though. He's an enigma to me…I'm bound to write him out of character. Fuuma too, actually.


End file.
